Chapter 8

Bunny

Post folds his arms across his chest and slowly nods. “According to the coroner, this is an open and shut situation.”

Probably not what I would brand this moment, but that’s not my job.

In fact, the only thing I’m supposed to do is sit here and look pretty.

Well, pretty and petrified.

Garcia says it’ll sell the whole thing better.

And it is a sell because no part of me is scared about what we did or what we’re capable of doing.

It’s actually rather empowering.

I like that feeling.

I like that they help cultivate that feeling.

“First that attempted mugging in Crystal Waters,” Post continues, concern caking itself in his tone, “then John left on your doorstep like garbage, then the gravesite vandalism, and now a violent home invasion?” He shakes his head in obvious disbelief. “You’re havin’ a rough go of it, huh, Woods?”

The Kid does his best to sympathetically smile from his standing position that’s beside my counter sitting one. “Seems that way, Sheriff.”

“They say when it rains, it pours,” Post cryptically sighs, warranting my stare away from the “Stayin’ Alive” lyrics I’m doodling on my boyfriend’s hand over to where Post is lingering in the open garage beside the other man in my life. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t flood. You hear me?”

Mutt grunts in agreement yet says nothing.

Because his job is to stand there and look pretty.

Well, pretty and protective.

And the former isn’t difficult, especially in those jeans I swear are wearing him versus the other way around.

Again.

That command was Garcia’s.

Which is driving The Kid fucking insane.

The only man Kipp doesn’t mind taking instructions from is the one that handed over the reins to our attorney who clearly has a master plan we don’t know much about.

At least not yet.

“Maybe I should send a couple of officers by daily?” Post suggests while the coroner guides his attendants towards the waiting transport vehicle. “Have them conduct a simple safety and wellness check of you and the property? Make sure y’all are secure and not in any immediate danger?” His attention shifts to Garcia. “What do you think, counselor?”

Low grumbles from The Kid have me returning to my doodles and whispering, “ Behave. ”

“ I am behaving, ” he quietly huffs in return. “ I’m just…tired of Garcia being around all the goddamn time. ”

“ Then get a law degree, ” leaves my lips in such a snarky fashion it receives a small chuckle.

“ The first thing I would do is fine you for looking so fucking sexy, baby. ”

“ Yeah, I don’t think you know what lawyers do, Kid.” Giggles hit his ears sparking another smirk. “ Stick to cars. ”

“You think that might be an effective deterrent to any future attacks on my townspeople?” Investigates the sheriff at the same time he takes the offered documentation from the official bearing dark clothing.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Garcia warmly agrees to my surprise, summoning my gaze in his direction once more. “Perhaps for just a few days? I know my clients would hate to waste town resources on something that can probably be chalked up to nothing more than a string of unfortunate circumstances.”

Brad is an unfortunate circumstance.

And I cannot wait to change our luck.

Post immediately nods a second time. “We’ll give it ‘til the day after John’s funeral. Hopefully, everything will be settled down by then.”

“ Hopefully ,” Mutt confidently echoes.

“Looks like we’re done here.” Post hands the paperwork back to the coroner. “You folks sure you don’t need anything else from me?” His attention cuts our way. “Woods?”

“No thank you, Post.”

“Miss Ripley?"

I do my best to fake a bashful beam, shake my head, and busy myself with doodling.

“Alright then.” He states loudly convincing me to resume watching the fading interaction. “I’m off to do more paperwork.” His open palm is offered to Mutt first. “Do not hesitate to call if you see or hear anything suspicious. Roger that?”

“Of course.”

He means of course not.

And I know it’s not because he doesn’t wanna trust this town or the people in it…it’s simply because at this time, we don’t know who we really can trust.

Who Brad may have gotten to.

Who one of the bounty hunters may have paid off.

Who values money from strangers more than the life of those around them.

“ Counselor .” Post shakes his hand next. “My office will be in touch if we have any follow up questions or information about the altercation and attempted break in.”

“I appreciate that, Sheriff.”

After the two men separate, Post wanders away towards his parked vehicle prompting me to tuck the hot pink pen in my messy bun beside my Mickey Mouse one and prepare for a review of the actual situation we’re facing rather than the one the cops are being sold.

Mutt and Garcia patiently wait side by side, talking and chuckling and grinning like the old friends that they are igniting jealousy in me and Kipp alike but for completely different reasons.

I don’t think they’re flirting or that Garcia wishes it were him Mutt was in love with.

No.

That type of jealousy is pointless to me.

Besides, I’ve never seen our boyfriend look at anyone the way he does me and The Kid.

You can literally see in his eyes how we give him life.

It’s sweet.

And sexy.

And powerful.

And the most soul shaking thing I’ve ever experienced.

Envy isn’t here because I share a frivolous concern with my other partner.

It’s here because part of me wishes I had a friend like that.

Someone to just talk to.

Someone I’m not with romantically.

Someone to gush about the adorable way Mutt makes sure my feet are tucked in at night or how The Kid has been looking into ordering a fancier coffee machine or how they’ll sometimes share a morning kiss when one’s taking a leak and the other is on their way into the shower.

I wish I had someone to talk to about the idea of starting a family someday and how I secretly fear Brad did something to me to prevent that from being a possibility.

I wish there was someone in my life I could just… vent to about everyday frustrations without worrying about them trying to fix it or fight about it.

Don’t get me wrong.

I love my men.

I love them more than life itself.

I knew that long before I hit that asshole in the head with a shovel nearly killing him.

I would just love to have a little bit of an existence outside of them , the way they have one outside of me .

The moment Post and the coroner are officially somewhere down the road, the two men step back inside the garage, shut the overhead door, and lock it.

Per usual, Garcia begins letting music flutter through the air as a counter communication measure; however, this time, the song choice completely captures The Kid’s attention. “Is this… Nirvana ?”

“Smells Like Teen Spirit.”

“On a fucking cello??!”

“Technically two cellos, but good ear.” An impressed expression appears on Garcia’s face at the same time he places his phone down on the counter beside me. “And they were a great duo.”

Familiar joy flashes through my boyfriend’s gaze encouraging Mutt to lovingly declare, “We’ll look into them over breakfast, Kid.”

His nodding in excitement is followed by our attorney casually announcing, “Which I will happily let you all get to just as soon as I verify, we’re all on the same page about our next steps regarding my vehicle’s remodeling.” Garcia waits until he’s certain he has everyone’s focus before continuing. “How’s that new t-bar?”

“Untouched,” Nolan informs on a small tip of the head toward the toolbox on the other side of Kipp.

Thankfully, this phone analogy isn’t difficult to follow.

Given the uncertainty regarding so much circling us, our attorney decided to do what it is others do when needing to talk yet worry about unwanted eavesdropping. The fact my men work in a mechanic shop makes the choice of reference natural as well as easy to disregard as being anything other than run of the mill shoptalk.

“And the spiked lug nuts?”

This time, it’s Kipp who responds. “Still in their packaging. Ready to go whenever.”

While staging the torture kill session with the bounty hunter wasn’t that difficult, deciding which route to take with his burner was a different story. Ultimately – thanks to the man in the suit – using it to lure the others out by giving them false tips regarding my location was the idea chosen. They’ll all be sent a text at the same time from the dead guy’s burner sending them to various areas where Garcia will have arranged for local authorities to arrest them for whatever initial trumped up charges, he’s convinced them to before whatever ones they’ve actually committed thus cutting off Brad’s muscle supply.

At least momentarily.

From there, the overly paid attackers will most likely begin turning on one another along with Brad – money talks until prison talks louder – which should buy us time to devise a more in-depth offensive plan rather than being stuck in defense .

And I’m tired of being in defense mode.

Waiting to be attacked.

Hurt.

Scared.

I’m all for flipping the columns.

Swapping the rows.

Turning the one hunting into the one being hunted.

“Good,” Garcia casually states, one hand sliding into his suit pants pocket. “I know they won’t enhance the performance; however, we all know show quality can be equally important in these types of competitions.”

I.E. our little sting operation may not catch the monster, but it’ll prove that we aren’t backing down.

That we’re not afraid to fight for what we have.

Each other.

And that’s honestly something I don’t believe he’s ever suspected.

I think he just assumed my men would give me up.

Kick me out.

Leave me on my own because some random woman who wandered into their lives off the road wasn’t worth the trouble.

But thank my lucky pen that he was wrong.

That I’m not just someone they’ll fight a battle for, but someone they’re willing to start a war over.

“November’s funeral is going to be a busy day for you,” he slyly announces when he wants the texts sent, “so I’ll plan to swing by sometime that late afternoon. See when you can officially get me on the books to make the swap.”

The phone will eventually need to get to him for his tech dudes to do whatever it is they do.

Just not now.

And the reasoning behind that is still a mystery lingering in my mental margins.

Maybe he’s afraid Brad will attack him and doesn’t wanna lose the evidence?

Maybe he’s dealing with another case and doesn’t want to mix up the information?

Contrary to what The Kid likes to think, we aren’t his only clients.

I assume it has something to do with that.

“Don’t let anyone see my custom pieces.” His eyes circle the small space we’re occupying. “Understood?”

We nod back rather than verbally commenting.

“Very well then.” He removes his keys from his pocket. “I need to be going. I have an off the books mediation this morning regarding a possible settlement proposal.”

“About us?” Mutt casually investigates.

“That’s at the end of the week.” Garcia picks up his phone on a crooked grin. “That’ll be much easier than this shit. Trust me. ” His wink instantly causes Kipp to grumble, a sound that encourages our attorney to chuckle. “Still not interested in fucking Ace, Woods.” The shutting off the music is attached to an innocent shrug. “ Still not my type.” He locks gazes with his best friend in the room. “Walk me out.”

Shame and anger begin spreading through Kipp’s expression, yet instead of criticizing the coloring or attitude, Mutt simply delivers a firm squeeze to his neck during the pass by, wordlessly reminding him to relax.

That there’s nothing to worry about.

Ever.

Happy groans flutter through the air prompting me to salaciously prod, “ You like that? ”

There’s no hesitation from The Kid to reach over and execute the action on me. “ Don’t you? ”

Whimpers tumble past my parted lips convincing him to increase the pressure.

Pull me closer by the territory in his possession.

Tighten his grip again at the same time he purrs, “ Such a good girl. ” The choking action forces my mouth to open wider, allowing his tongue to briefly have a swipe of mine. “ Such a good, good fucking girl. ”

“ Having breakfast without me, you filthy little fuck? ” Our boyfriend inquires upon his return. “ You don’t think I’m hungry too? ” His arrival directly in front of me precedes his demand. “ Share with Sir. ”

Rather than relinquish his hold on my throat, he simply jerks me forward and forces my lips onto our boyfriend’s, at which point he harshens his squeeze to guarantee that Mutt has full access to his favorite accessory.

He lazily licks the little metal ball, instantly receiving needier moans, and those moans cause gravelly groans to echo throughout the garage.

“ I think we should reward her for being such a good girl at the graveyard, Sir. ” Kipp maintains his grasp as he yanks my mouth to his for another taste. I’m barely granted enough air to keep my lungs from burning let alone enough to reply. “ For not running. ” Another roll of our tongues together occurs. “ For saving us. ”

“ You’re right ,” he concurs before indulging in a second round of light lashes. “ We need to reward this dirty little slut for such good behavior. ”

And that starts with Kipp’s deeper clutching.

And continues with their tongues meeting on top of mine.

Whirling and winding and whipping while I whimper for more.

Mercy.

The Kid’s hand slowly slides from my neck at the same time their wet tangling skates lower to wrestle for possession over one of my clothed nipples.

Then the other.

Spit soaked trails proceed to flow downward during their one-on-one battling against my stomach.

The top of my jeans.

The space between my thighs.

Getting me bottomless and spread out on the edge of the checkout counter is a joint effort; however, the battle for being the first to make me come instantly resumes around the thin fabric covering my pussy.

Their impatient tongues feverishly fight and fuse together around the material until it’s banished to the ground for them to deliver better, sloppy swipes to my clit.

Steal sucks of it in between sucks of one another.

My eyes helplessly become hooded prompting The Kid to command, “ Be a good girl and watch us worship you. ”

His tongue sneaks away from Nolan’s, stiffens, and savagely slips itself inside. The first thrust has me crumpling forward, but the next few are what leads to me threading my fingers through his hair and yanking him closer.

They’re what have my hips lifting up just enough to meet him heave for heave while greedily grinding against the steadily plunging muscle.

Pleased grumbles leaking free from Kipp spark displeased grunts from Mutt causing him to nudge our boyfriend’s tongue away with his in order to prove that he can dive deeper than his competition.

Rougher.

Being fucked faster and more relentlessly leaves no time to catch my breath or fix my balance or even switch from pulling The Kid’s hair to Sir’s. Despite being the one feasting between my legs, lapping up every last drop he can find, it’s not his head that receives the ecstasy filled scrapes to his scalp, a fact that I assume infuriates him by the way he digs his nails into my thigh.

“ Sir! ”

Anxiousness to hear his own name causes my other boyfriend to capture our partner’s tongue just long enough to swap places with it.

“ Kid! ”

Back and forth the two go, turning my pussy into a soaking wet battle ground, where small nips and licks are campaigns and long sucks and strokes are carnal crusades. Their ceaseless oscillation transposes into something so seamless that I lose track of whose mouth is exactly where and when.

Whose tongue is nestled in my deepest depths and whose is laving the stickiness smeared elsewhere.

I can’t tell which man descends lower to roll his tongue around my taut back hole.

Or which one pushes the tip of theirs inside.

Or whose fingers have joined the frenzied movements to provide additional pressure.

One leg falling off the counter and over someone’s shoulder is instantly proceeded by the other following suit.

I grab a fistful of hair from both men and completely surrender myself to the endless sea of euphoric devotion on one loud, back breaking scream. “ I’m coming! ”

Two sets of groans vibrate the already sensitive area in gratitude forcing my eyes to squeeze shut as I blissfully buck into every pulsation and ride their wordless adulation past the brink of dawn.

I may be what’s for breakfast, but something tells me they’ll be what’s for lunch.